


Running Interference

by SLWalker



Series: Game of Thrones: Alderaan [6]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, No guy was made for gold eyeliner like this guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-08 01:40:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13447803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLWalker/pseuds/SLWalker
Summary: Maul makes use of his still relatively new confidence to rescue Bail from being bored to tears by a rambling diplomat.





	Running Interference

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Merfilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merfilly/gifts).



> Older tale I'm transferring here.

Bail looked bored almost to the point of tears.

The diplomat who had him cornered and was currently talking his ears off didn’t notice. Not that terribly many people would; Bail could feign interest in something for far longer than most. Earlier in their relationship, there had been several times where Maul fretted about that, wondering if Bail was turning that admittedly useful talent in his direction whenever he went on about whatever he was studying at the time, or even just in the normal course of day-to-day.

Once he got up the nerve to ask, Bail recounted with perfect recall exactly what Maul had just been on about, and then went further yet: he stopped them both from where they were walking, kissed Maul until his knees went weak, and then said, softly, “I love listening to you talk. You could be reciting a laundry list, and I’d never get bored.”

It took awhile for that to become fact for Maul; even as his confidence grew in several directions, both personally _and_ in his place with this family, he was still prone to second-guessing himself, though he was likewise good at keeping it to himself.

At least, he thought he was. But it was difficult to be anything less than transparent to Bail, who seemed to just _know_ when to hold on tighter, when to whisper reassurance, when to reaffirm things. Eventually, it did become a certainty, a rock to stand on: He was wanted, he was loved back, this was something real, something that wasn’t going to vanish. Bail wasn’t going to turn on him, not in anger nor indifference.

Thus, there was nothing Maul could ever imagine denying Bail, sometimes even before Bail knew he needed it.

This wasn’t one of the many dinner parties that Mazi held, but just an afternoon luncheon. Maul usually dressed for dinner, and when he wanted to play with Bail, he actually bothered to ask the tailor for certain things that he knew Bail _liked_. But right now, he was only in his field gear, having come home from tromping through the woods with the rest of the class taking samples of moss.

After a few more moments of eying the scene, he noticed the diplomat’s young wife looked just as bored as Bail was, if considerably less good at hiding it. A half-plan developed and he slipped back out, found the closest mirror and paused in front of it.

If there was one thing he had learned beyond the fact that his lover’s attention was real, it was that some specific kinds of confidence were eye-catching. Walking a certain way, adorning oneself for notice, holding a gaze; these were all things he picked up from either watching Bail or by _enticing_ Bail. Maul had never considered himself particularly noteworthy, not even in his former life; had never thought to use his looks to gain notice, unless it was to make people afraid of him. Obviously, doing that now was entirely counter-intuitive; it had taken realizing that Bail _lusted_ after him to really get it all to click for Maul that he could be the _good_ kind of eye-worthy.

(Sometimes, before that, he chewed himself up panicking that he looked so different that he was bound to be an embarrassment instead.)

Now, he tilted his head at his reflection and tried to figure out how to make normal-environmental-studies-major-clothing into something more interesting. The nerf-leather jacket he had on was nice; Mazi had it made for him for the Festival of Life, something to wear out into the field when it was cool enough to need a jacket but not cold enough to need a parka. After a moment, he popped the top two buttons of his off-white shirt, then stood back again, thinking.

It said something that the Estate’s staff didn’t even pause walking by him when he brandished his gold eyeliner pen from the inner pocket of his jacket, stepped forward again and quite expertly applied it. Nothing ostentatious, just a little highlighting to make use of the contrast to his black mask.

One more look, then Maul rolled his shoulders, adjusted his jacket to slightly-disheveled-casual, then strolled back into the garden dining hall with an easy gait, shoulders squared enough to show them off, but loose enough to look approachable.

Within three minutes, Maul had the full attention of the diplomat’s wife; he had no interest in _keeping_ her attention, but he engaged with her anyway, and when she offered her hand to him, he slid his fingers under her palm and lifted it to brush his lips across her knuckles, light and just _this_ side of polite.

Within three minutes and thirty seconds, the diplomat had abandoned Bail and came over; to his credit, he didn’t seem genuinely jealous, just surprised, and like he had finally only just realized his wife had been waiting for him while he rambled.

In Maul’s peripheral vision, Bail huffed a silent laugh and shook his head, then mouthed _Thank you._

Maul tipped him back a quick wink, while the husband and wife were talking to one another, and didn’t have to fake his self-satisfied grin, either.


End file.
